A Stranger's Note
by jemtessas
Summary: Prompt: We write notes to each other on the desk we share at different times and I never knew who I was talking to until I saw you stay behind after class to write on it and holy shit yoU'RE HOT. - Wylan/Jesper
The bright sunrays attacked Wylan's eyes as he rubbed open his eyes. Groaning, he pushed himself off the bed, to stand shakily in front of the mirror. Today was his first day in his new high school.

His first high school, actually.

The last time he went to school, it was in 1st grade. Which was also the time Wylan associated with the discovery that alphabets were really not his thing. His grades were sky high in math but writing, not so much so. Every time he tried to write something more than a phrase, alphabets escaped his mind like water slips out of a cupped hand.

Wylan realized then that it was not loss of ability, but rather lack of ability he had that stopped him from functioning the same as others. He found solace in the language he knew best; math. Numbers were comfortable, numbers were straightforward and there was always an answer waiting for him to uncover it.

His father did not share his sentiments however, imposing home tutoring to "fix" his son. It was in vain. The tutors were as brutal as his father was, assigning long passages and comprehensions for coursework, as if forcing one to climb Mount Everest would teach them how to climb.

Wylan shook out of his thoughts. He needed to get ready quick and head for school, preferably without setting off his father into another lecture.

/

"And what of the gravedigger scene? What inferences can you draw from there?" the middle-aged teacher asked his half-awake students.

He still looked hopeful though, combing the class to find someone to pick on following the absence of a raised hand. "Nina, why don't you tell us?"

Wylan zoned out. He had been given immunity from answering questions since he was the New Kid and hence not expected to have read Hamlet while the others had been given it as summer homework.

He knew the answer though. He may not like to read or write English but audiobooks served the same purpose. He was tempted to answer the question, especially considering Nina got it wrong. His nerves stopped him.

He slumped on his table. Sitting in the back of the class prevented any extra attention being paid to the token New Kid so he did not think much of his mannerisms.

Instead, Wylan doodled. He drew the ship he had been dreaming of, with its hard wooden curvature of the hull and the complexities that came within the workings of the ship. He did not know where he had seen this ship that it was stored in his memory but he had dreamt it enough times that he could draw blindfolded. So absentmindedly, Wylan let the picture in his head guide his hand on the blank sheet.

The harsh shriek of the school shook him out of his reverie. The students were in a rush as it was time for lunch and Wylan found himself compelled to leave the classroom with the crowd. In his haste, he left the doodled on sheet underneath the table and headed to eat.

/

The next day, Wylan had English Literature early in the morning. He came to the same desk that was unoccupied again and took his place. He hoped that today was not a written task day. The only reason he was here in this school was that he begged his father to let him go. His father said yes but under the condition that he passes a test that his tutor arranges for him.

Wylan cheated.

And he did not feel bad about it. He cheated his way through and got his father's permission to enrol in this school.

How he would pass the written tasks here, he had not planned for.

Wylan removed his pullover sweater and moved to stuff it beneath the desk when he noticed a folded piece of paper sticking out the edge of the shelf. He pulled it out and noted that it was the same paper he had doodled on the day earlier. His ship from his dream was there, with the faint pencil lines outlining the overall plan and structure of the ship.

Except, there were thick black lines that decorated the foremast and the mainmast of the ship. There were flowers, vines and small ladybugs that splayed out on the sails of the ship.

It was amusing. The technique was amateur and it was obvious the artist had no qualms scribbling over Wylan's doodle. He did not mind however, as he further noted the stick figure of a man in the quarterdeck of the ship (was the figure wearing a hat? Or was that the hair?).

Wylan took out his pencil and doodled another man next to the stick figure previously drawn by the stranger. Wylan's stick figure was shorter, which was highly probable since Wylan was shorter than a lot of people his age. He drew out his yellow pen to draw golden curls on his stick figure's head.

What else could he add without his teacher noticing? He didn't want this confiscated. Rather, he looked forward to drawing some more and leaving it for the stranger.

He scribbled carefully, bending down to hide the paper from the teacher's view as he droned on about Hamlet's supposed madness. He detailed the other parts of the ship until it was exactly as his dream showed. Facing a loss of ideas on what more to add, Wylan left the paper underneath the table to focus on the class.

/

His next class was only 2 days later. Wylan was itching to see if his Stranger has doodled back on the page. He hurried into the room, stumbling on his way to reach the page underneath the page.

Only to find that there was no paper. He turned around to check the other desks. Perhaps the desks had been reshuffled.

But no, he saw that the star he had doodled during his last class on his desk. This time, however, he saw a familiar black scrawl leading down one corner of the star in a squiggly line. The other end of the squiggle was a stick figure. The stick figure was holding the star as if it was a balloon.

Wylan's initial disappointment quelled into curiosity. He drew more stick figures around the Stranger's and attached balloons of different shapes. After drawing about half a dozen of them, Wylan was satisfied with his handiwork.

He only wished that he had kept the paper with the ship in it.

/

The next day, Wylan saw that the stick figure next to the Stranger's had golden hair. The Stranger had drawn golden curls similar to what Wylan had done in his in the ship. Wylan felt heat in his cheeks when he noticed that the golden curls stick figure and the taller Stranger's stick figure were holding hands. Wylan's stick figure was holding a balloon in the shape of a moon.

They were holding hands.

It was a small observation but Wylan couldn't stop staring at those lines intersecting. In his defence, the Stranger had not modified any of the other stick figures.

Was this considered as flirting?

Wylan's pale cheeks reddened. He didn't even know who this person was. Had he talked to him perhaps? He was sure it was a boy right?

He had assumed that if it were a girl, she would have drawn a triangle to denote a skirt. But then again, not all girls wore skirts.

Only later did Wylan notice the paper underneath the table. It was the same paper with his ship but Wylan barely recognized it.

The Stranger had taken the paper home Wylan guessed. Or the Stranger had extraordinary ability of painting during an English class.

There were blue waves underlining the hull of the ship, cascading in a steady pattern. The blue was truly an ocean blue with realistic ripples interrupting the endless blue but the rest of the paper was so otherworldly.

The sky was 10 different shades of purple with little dots of gold mapping out constellations on the dark background. A distant dark shape was also painted, almost like an island that the ship seemed to reach for.

The ship, however, was the most intriguing thing. The ship that Wylan had sketched was remained untouched, bar the tall stick figure that the Stranger had drawn. Wylan traced his fingers along the pencil lines that he had drawn. The black and white of his ship stood starkly against the various hues of the background.

The two stick figures stood at the quarterdeck. Wylan touched the Stranger's stick figure and imagined them to be smiling and victorious as if returning from a spectacular journey.

Wylan did not know what more to change. He spent the entirety of his class glimpsing at the paper, memorizing every shade and stroke of colour. He wondered on what he could add for the Stranger to find next.

His gaze returned to the stick figures, as it did the past dozen times. He took out his pencil and drew a speech bubble next to the golden hair stick figure. Blushing even at the thought of it, he scribbled inside the speech bubble.

His heart beat faster. He folded the paper, returned it to below the desk, and didn't dare look at it for the rest of the class.

/

Wylan couldn't handle the suspense. He wanted to know the Stranger's reaction to reading what Wylan had written. He wanted to know whether the stranger would blush the same way he would. Would his ears go red? Did he have blond hair like Wylan? Did he even have hair (considering the lack of doodling on his stick figure)?

The questions plagued Wylan so much that he resorted to standing outside the window of the classroom during his free time. Once, he saw a girl sit on the same desk but she did not even notice the paper and seemed highly interested in the contents of her textbook.

Wylan sighed in frustration. The day had gone by slowly he had made trips to the washroom 9 times already, just as an excuse to walk by this classroom.

He almost gave up but decided to give it one last try before the end of the school day.

A long, lean boy was draped over the chair and table that Wylan had previously occupied in the morning. The boy's long legs draped lazily and the boy was laughing devilishly at someone.

It couldn't have been this guy, Wylan thought. He was far too rugged looking, masculine and handsome. He stared at the darker boy's hands. Could those have been the same hands that produced the purple brush strokes?

But he had no hair. Well, he did but it was practically invisible, the close-cropped dark hair blending with his brown skin.

When Wylan was finally able to tear his eyes away from the boy's sharp face, he noticed that he was fiddling with the paper below the desk.

Wylan's heart stopped.

The bell rang harshly, signalling the flurry of students moving to go home but he stood rooted in his spot.

Inside the classroom, the boy stood, giving Wylan a full view of his lean body the boy pulled out the paper, shooing away his friends.

Wylan stepped closer to the window to see the boy's reactions. He felt his body heat up as he saw the boy notice what Wylan had done on the paper. He grinned such a wide goofy smile, so different from the devilish grin he had sported earlier.

Just that smile urged Wylan to tear his gaze away from the beautiful boy and push the door of the classroom open. He stood, feeling a mixture of nerves and courage, with one hand holding on to the doorframe.

The boy turned around. The goofy smile was gone but he noticed the long, golden curls framing Wylan's face, looked down at the stick figures in the paper and looked up with an amused expression.

He walked towards Wylan, the latter boy never having felt this small.

"Jesper Fahey," the boy said as he reached Wylan. He reached out a hand.

There was one silent moment. Wylan thrust his hand forward to shake the outreached hand.

"Wylan Van Eck," he muttered.

Jesper grinned so wide, Wylan felt his chest expand. Then, to Wylan's surprise, Jesper took the hand and bent to kiss the knuckles.

Wylan thought he died right there and then.

The smirking boy only laughed at Wylan's red ears. He handed the paper to Wylan.

Wylan tore his gaze from Jesper and opened the paper. Jesper drew his attention to the speech bubble Wylan had drawn earlier. "I ship us," it said.

Jesper flipped over the paper. Wylan noticed a series of numbers that could only mean to be Jesper's phone number.

"I ship us too by the way," Jesper grinned.


End file.
